The Only Exception
by didsomeonesaybioshock
Summary: Frank Hartley has lied his entire life. It was nothing personal; it was just who he was. He regularly fabricated his name, his past, his intentions, his occupation; anything necessary to get what he deserved. When it came to his cynical demeanor and precarious deceptions, no one was safe from his wrath. And that meant no one. Except one person. She was his one and only exception.
1. Chapter 1

The first thing Moira noticed about the orphan boy was his accent. She had been skipping heartily around the grimy downtown district of Bedford Park, lightly humming the tune to "Danny Boy" when she crashed right into him. Her head of light brown waves smacked the pavement first and her syrup colored eyes momentarily saw a shade of bright white. Moira could faintly make out a thick Bronx accent over the ringing in her eardrums.

"Aye, punk, watch where you're goin'-" His face slowly took form through the white of the sky, his bright blue eyes giving her a quick one-over as he spoke. His wild deep brown locks hung over the tips of his ears and threatened to cover his eyes. His nose took up half of his face. But the only thing Moira could think about was his accent.

"Hell-o, anyone in there? You deaf 'er somethin'?" He drawled, raising a bushy eyebrow at the young girl. Moira continued to stare at his face; the bright sunlight accenting his fairly chiseled jawline. She replayed his words in her mind, his tone tattooing itself in her brain. After a long moment she finally found the strength to speak.

"Nah, I ain't deaf," she croaked, offering the boy a small smile. She suddenly wished she had taken her Ma's advice and thrown on that lavender gown she had sewn together the week prior. Instead, she sported a pair of grey Beach pajama pants with a long-sleeved white blouse tucked into the waistband. She was sure it was covered in filth from the sidewalk now. The boy's scowl gradually melted into a softer expression, a light smirk tugging at his pink lips.

"Y'must be blind, then," he offered his hand and she took it gratefully, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet by the stranger. "Were ya' walkin' with your eyes closed?"

His hands were _huge;_ at least twice the size of her own feeble paws. She stared at them even after he let go, his thick fingers twitching slightly against the disheveled tan fabric of his Steampunk trousers.

"Nothin' like that, I's just distracted, that's all."

"Well, next time, y'pay attention to where you're goin'."

Moira glanced up at the ancient brick building towering above the two children. The stained wood sign displayed above the entry way read, _Little Brothers and Sisters' Orphanage_ in faded yellow paint. She pointed up the stairs before them. "You live here?"

The boy snorted crudely. "Yeah, s'pose I do."

Moira glanced back at the boy. "Don't matter. It's nicer than my place."

"Where's that?"

"The brick apartment complex over on Marion Avenue."

The boy's eyes widened in surprise. "Y'don't look like the goons that sulk around the Marion block."

She shrugged at his comment. "No where else to go." Her father, a night-time janitor for an office building on Bedford Park Avenue, hardly made enough to pay the rent for their one-bedroom shack on the fourth floor of the complex. Moira's mother, who had given birth to her baby sister no more than 6 months prior, performed daily household chores for farmers in exchange for a portion of their crops. She would milk the cows, clean their homes, and even cook their dinner for a small ration of household essentials. Moira, being an innocent seven-year-old beauty with the best puppy-dog pout on the east coast, was sometimes able to sweet talk a middle class family for a little extra food during the week to bring home to her family. It was the reason why her parents allowed her to run free around the neighborhood so often. She always found a way to lend a helping hand.

The kid eyed her curiously, his head tilted to the side slightly as he sized her up. An old Austin Seven chugged past on the blacktop, honking at a group of giggling children as they darted in its path. It felt like an eternity before he spoke again.

"So, why are ya' over here?"

"I come over to this side of town a few days a week. Sometimes rich people visit the shops, and they give me food cause' they feel bad for me."

He chuckled, flashing a side-smile in her direction. He had pretty nice teeth for an orphan, not yellowed and crooked like most children from the slums of the Bronx district. "A business woman, eh? I like it."

Moira smiled back at him proudly, happy to provoke such a reaction out of someone. "Thank you kindly. Glad someone around here appreciates my work."

"Y'hungry?" Blue-eyes suddenly nodded towards the orphanage. "I think for lunch we're havin' beef and cheese casserole. Trust me, it's better than it sounds."

Moira looked up towards the sun. It sat damn near the center of the sky. She didn't need to be back home for a few more hours, at the least. She met the boy's blue eyes once again and nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Moira started for the stairs before a strong hand grasped her forearm. "Wait," she turned towards Blue-eyes, that same side-smile plastered onto his face. "I never caught yer' name."

Moira peered at him from under her lashes and opened her mouth to answer him. "M-"

She felt something large and furry scurry across the tops of her white Tennis sandals and glanced down, making direct eye contact with the largest rat she had ever seen. She shrieked mid-sentence and just about leaped from the straps of her shoes. "-EEPS!" She finished, kicking at the rodent as it scampered down the stairs and into a nearby alleyway. She was breathing hard, her eyes as wide as saucers.

" _Meeps?"_ She locked glances with Blue-eyes who was chuckling behind his fist. He had a very amused and relaxed expression on his face.

Moira gulped and shook her head frantically. "N- _no,_ not _Meeps._ That's the dumbest name I ever heard." She sputtered, a blush creeping into her cheeks quickly. "It-It's _Moira._ Moira Maines."

"Yeah, _sure_ it is, _Meeps."_ He grinned, his eyes filled with mischief. Moira groaned and rolled her eyes.

"That's _not_ my name."

"It is now!" He snorted as he strode up the steps ahead of her. He turned halfway up the staircase to glance back. "Hope y'know I ain't ever callin' you anythin' else." He winked.

"I figured." Moira sighed, trailing along behind him to the moldy entry door. Before he reached for the doorknob Moira piped in. "Hey, y'never told me your name."

He put a hand on the knob and peeked over his shoulder behind him. "Frank. Frank Hartley."

"Nice to meet you, Bronx," she smirked at her new nickname for the orphan, and it was his turn to roll his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

As the months flew by Moira found herself spending less time in her cramped apartment and more hours adventuring with Frank through the streets of Bedford Park. Each morning she would scarf down a small serving of bread and butter for breakfast, kiss her Ma and baby sister goodbye, and be out the door; bounding down the deteriorating stairs to the lobby floor with a smile on her face. In such a short amount of time Frank had become more than just the cynical orphan with the thick cadence; he had developed into her personal confident, her partner-in-crime, and more importantly, a friend. The nuns at the orphanage had come to recognize and know the girl over the course of a few weeks, sometimes scooting Moira an extra plate of food to bring home with her for supper. Moira's family had been worried at first about her long absences each day until plates of pre-cooked chicken and green vegetables began making frequent appearances on the molding kitchen counter in the evenings. Who were they to complain about extra meals for their already struggling household?

Moira learned quickly that Frank was sharp. Not only was he intellectually advanced in the sense of literature, but he was street smart. He spent hours each day studying people: how they walked, talked, ate, even worked. He was curious about how the upper class lived, and Moira couldn't count on two hands how many hours the duo had spent on downtown rooftops, observing wealthier families stroll through the upscale portion of Bedford Park. Sure, it was boring sometimes-Moira was the type of girl that would rather run a marathon than sit in one spot for seven hours at a time-but for once in her life she had a _friend._ A friend she could have an actual conversation with, share jokes with, have _fun_ with. Moira couldn't remember the last time she had someone to play with. In fact, Moira couldn't remember _ever_ having a friend to play with. Even as a toddler.

Frank was her first friend, and she was forever grateful for running into him that fateful July afternoon.

Winter came and it snowed constantly. Moira saw Frank less since the sun would set at five. One of the only rules her parents had set for her was a curfew at sunset, no matter what season it was. Bedford Park was livable during the day, but once the sun sank behind the cityscape it was an entirely different setting. Mobsters were notorious for prowling the streets in the evenings, stalking for prey like hungry hyenas. Police tended to avoid the block late at night to avoid conflict with serious gangs, only interfering under dire circumstances. The citizens of Bedford Park were on their own at dusk.

By the time January rolled around Moira was antsy for longer days. The dark frightened her terribly, and Frank always wondered why she practically sprinted home if she stayed at the orphanage just a few minutes too long. It wasn't that her parents would necessarily be angry; they understood if she was a few minutes tardy after sundown. But if the sun sank too low behind the block and it became difficult for her to see the road in front of her, she would begin to feel strange. Her chest would tighten to the point where breathing was a challenge, her hands would begin to shake until her entire body would tremble violently, and the world would start spinning around her. Her adrenaline would give her legs the boost they needed to get her home, and she would slam the door to their apartment shut behind her as she panted and shook in the family's small entry way. Sometimes it would be so overwhelming that her knees would give from under her, sending her limp body crashing to the tile floor like a bag of industrial sand. Her Pa or Ma would have to carry her to the one queen bed the family shared, depending on who was home at the time, and she would cry in their arms until she would finally fall asleep in an exhausted heap of emotion.

Her parents hadn't the slightest clue why she reacted this way. It seemed only situations of high stress brought the episodes on: the nighttime, lack of sleep, even intense hunger. It wasn't until late January when it had happened for the fourth consecutive time in a week that her parents decided to see a specialist about it.

"Well, the good news is that I don't see anything wrong with her brain," Dr. Fraters informed Moira's parents, peering at the child's case file in front of him. He re-adjusted the dark colored frames perched on his nose and flipped a page. "She's your typical healthy seven-year-old girl."

"There's gotta be somethin' wrong with her, Doc," Benjamin, Moira's father, argued and shook his head. "I'mean you heard what we told ya', the girl's comin' home cryin' four times a week because of the _dark."_

"I remember what y'all told me, Benny," Dr. Fraters nodded, turning another page in the medical folder. He laid the documents flat on his desk. "Her blood pressure was a little higher than average, 130/90, but the range varies from child to child."

"Are y'sure it isn't a heart issue? Heart issues wrong rampant in my family tree," Catherine, Ben's wife, interjected, leaning forward in her seat. "Why, my father died at 42 from a heart attack. And his father died at 37 before him."

"Cathy, your daughter is _not_ gonna have a heart attack before the age of ten." Dr. Fraters sighed, leaning back in his chair. Dr. Fraters had been working in Bedford Park for almost 12 years to date and knew the citizens of the town quite well. He was the only pediatrician within a ten-mile radius of his office, so he was a busy man indeed. Scheduling an appointment last minute was virtually impossible with his agenda, but he always made time for the locals of the town. Ben and Cathy had lived here for almost eight years and Dr. Fraters had birthed both of their children in their tiny apartment. Her parents were borderline paranoid about their daughter's health, to the point where Cathy would bring Moira in almost once a month until she turned four if she sneezed twice. Dr. Fraters was patient with her, mainly because he remembered what it was like to raise a first child. Hell, he had raised five of them.

"Well then what the hell is wrong with her?" Benny was beginning to grow frustrated, tapping his foot wildly against the musty carpet beneath them. Dr. Fraters was quiet for a few moments, planning out what he was about to say next carefully.

"What if she just has anxiety?"

Cathy and Benny both looked at him, confused expressions lining both of their stress-ridden faces. Cathy's head cocked to the side slightly. " _Anxiety_?"

"What the fuck's an anxiety?" Benny ignorantly drawled, pulling a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes from his shirt pocket and choosing one with trembling fingers.

"Well, that's just it, we don't really _know_ what it is," Dr. Fraters ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "It's just a concept at this point in time. We don't really know _what_ it is, just that it _exists."_

"How do you treat it, doc?" Benny lit his cigarette with his silver plated lighter. He had found it sitting in the gutter near the office building one night, it's silver exterior glistening in the moonlight just enough to catch his eye. It was the luckiest night of his life. He pocketed the lighter and took a long drag, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth with a low whistle. "Lay it on me an' don't sugar coat it. What's it gonna take to cure her?"

"Like I just said, Benny, it's a _concept._ There is no treatment." Benny was one stubborn son of a bitch and the entire town knew it. Dr. Fraters pinched the bridge of his nose above the slope of his glasses and closed his eyes. The worst part about it was, he could already tell Moira had inherited that steadfast trait from her father. _Lord, help that girl's future husband._ He thought to himself with a chuckle. "The idea is that anxiety is some sort of mental complication that causes certain people to experience moments of high panic, to the point where their physical capabilities are impaired. For example, you said that when Moira stays out past sunset, she comes home panting and crying."

"Sometimes she'll fall on the tile." Cathy added with a nod of her head.

"Exactly. She's physically impaired." Dr. Fraters confirmed. "It's not something that can disappear overnight. I've encountered some individuals with anxiety that live their entire lives with it. It's just something they deal with. It's not pleasant, but what else are they gonna do?"

Cathy and Benny were quiet for a moment. Dr. Fraters could practically see the gears in their brains turning as they processed the information. "So, you're saying she has some kind of head trauma?" Benny finally spoke through a puff of smoke. "Cause' I don't remember us ever droppin' her on her head or nothin'. And we sure as hell don't beat her."

"Mr. Maines, I am not-oh, forget it," Dr. Fraters threw his hands up in the air. This man wasn't going to understand medical jargon. _Gotta put this in words he'll understand._ "Benny, yer daughter ain't sick. She's fine. She'll _be_ fine. She don't have head trauma, and she don't have a disease. It ain't contagious, neither. She's just gonna have to deal with it. Try giving her some ice cream or beer when she has 'em to calm her down."

Benny's face relaxed and he chuckled in relief. "Now you're speakin' my language, Doc. As long as you say she'll be okay." He reached over to pat his wife's arm that lounged across her armrest. "Hear that, doll? LaRee is gonna be alright."

"Oh my _Lordy_ I was so worried about her!" Cathy praised happily as she took her husband's hand energetically. "I knew she'd be alright, she always is." Cathy leaned towards Dr. Fraters' desk with her free hand extended towards him with a toothy grin spread across her face. "We can always count on you, Dr. Fraters. Don't know what we'd do without ya'."

Dr. Fraters couldn't help but smile at the couple. They weren't the brightest bunch in New York, but by God they were the sweetest. The care and compassion they showed their children with the little money they had was admirable at the least. The doctor took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Always here if y'need me," he assured both parents, knowing good and well he would be seeing them again in a matter of weeks.


End file.
